Chapter 15

Coleson

I spent the night deep-cleaning my place…well, our place…and making sure I had everything a wife would need. Google and I are becoming very good friends. I stocked the bathroom with feminine products and made sure I had the expensive toilet paper. I’m not worried about my butthole, but I do worry for hers. And her pussy—I don’t want anything troubling her most sensitive spot. I headed to the mall in Knoxville and bought new bedding, new towels, and a couple throw blankets since, apparently, women like throw blankets. When I saw ones with black bears on them, I had to get them since they made me smile.

And I thought solely of my wife.

My wife.

Damn.

It isn’t until I’m shopping for food that I find my balls in the produce section to text her.

Me: Wife.

I lean on the cart as I wait for her to respond. I know she planned on telling her family tonight, so I’m aware I should be patient. I’m guilt-ridden, though. Shouldn’t I be there with her? A united front, maybe? She didn’t ask me to, and I don’t want to impose. When my phone pings, I look down, pulled from my always-running mind.

My Wife: Yes?

Me: I’m at the store. I want to get you food you like. Can you send me a list?

My Wife: You don’t have to do that. I don’t eat much.

My brows furrow.

Me: Why?

My Wife: I don’t know. I just don’t eat much.

Me: That’s ridiculous. You need to eat.

My Wife: Coleson, remember you’re my husband, not my daddy.

My brows furrow deeper. She keeps it up, she’ll be calling me daddy as I spank that ass. I don’t tell her that. I don’t want her to know that I want to spank that ass. Touch it. Suck it. Lick it.

I’m not going to make it with her.

Me: I am well aware what I am to you, and even though we didn’t say vows, by law, I’m supposed to care for you.

My Wife: I can care for myself. I promise.

Me: What food do you want, Wife?

My Wife: None. I can get my own.

If I throw my phone, I won’t be able to argue with her. I let out a deep sigh, take a cleansing breath, and count to ten. Once I don’t have the urge to hurl my phone, I focus on her.

Me: Fine. I’ll buy you what I think you’ll like, and if you don’t eat it, I will.

She sends me the eye roll emoji, and I can’t help but crack a grin.

Me: Have you told your family yet?

My Wife: No, Lou isn’t coming home tonight, so I’m packing. I plan to do it tomorrow when she gets in. My sisters and I are meeting for lunch at the arena.

Me: Do you need help packing?

My Wife: I’m good, thank you.

She’s being very standoffish, and it doesn’t do a damn thing for my ego. Did something change? Am I annoying her? Either way, I’m not liking the way this conversation is going at all. I hit her contact and then the call button before my phone starts ringing in my earbuds.

When she answers, she sounds surprised. “Hello?”

“I don’t like texting you.”

I’m met with silence, and then she asks, “Why not?”

I love your voice.“You seem like you don’t want to talk to me.”

She huffs. “I’m packing.”

“Still,” I say, feeling stupid. “Do you have regrets?”

“Loads,” she laughs, and my stomach drops. “I’m kidding, Coleson. Not at all. I’m overwhelmed with packing and just nervous about telling my family.”

Without thinking, I lower my voice. “I can take away all the stress for you.”

Why did I say that? I need to be careful. It’d be too easy to fall into bed with her, get really comfortable, and enjoy myself more than I could ever imagine. I don’t mind getting her off, I can handle that, but I’ll get addicted to her giving me pleasure. I know I will. Hell, I’m worried I’ll get addicted to giving her pleasure. Why did I call her? Damn it.

Before she can respond, I ask, “Do you like popcorn?”

“Yes.”

I throw it in the cart. “How do you feel about making us breakfast every morning?”

“I can pour you coffee,” she says with humor in her voice, and I smile.

“I’m sure you can make a smoothie or some eggs,” I suggest, grabbing a dozen eggs. “I’ll cook you dinner when I’m home.”

“Yeah, I can do that.”

“Do you like cheese?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Exactly,” I say, grabbing some.

“When is your first road trip?”

“I have one this week and then one next week.”

“Opening night is next Friday?”

“Yeah,” I tell her, reaching for some bagels. “Bagels or English muffins?”

“English muffins.” I snag those too. “Have you told anyone that we’re married?”

“Not yet.” I grab some peanut butter and jelly. “Really, I don’t have anyone to tell who would care.”

“Oh,” she says, and I hate the sadness in her voice. “You don’t have extended family?”

“Nope.” I head down the frozen foods aisle. “It was just me and my dad for the longest time. His parents passed when he was younger, and my mom’s family doesn’t talk to me because I chose to stay with my dad instead of going with her.”

“Where did she go?”

My chest seizes a bit, but she is my wife, and I should tell her. “She was in and out of my dad’s life a lot. She took me with her when I wasn’t old enough to fight her, but when I got older, I chose my dad instead of her.”

“Was she not good to you?”

I shrug, even though I know she can’t see me. “She was self-absorbed and only cared for herself and what she wanted. My dad was so concerned with trying to keep her, he didn’t really care for me until they were finally over.”

“That’s bullshit. I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. Do you like berry smoothies or tropical?”

“Both?” I add both to the cart. “Can you tell me why no one likes her?”

My mouth goes dry, and my heart sinks in my chest. “She slept with most of the men in town,” I admit in a low voice, even though I just looked around to make sure I am the only one in the frozen foods aisle. “She cheated on my dad all the time, weekly sometimes. She was never happy here, and since he wouldn’t leave town with her like she wanted, she made it her goal to make him miserable and make him look weak. It was disgusting, and when I realized what was happening, I cut her off.”

“My goodness,” she breathes. “Is that why you don’t want to be married? Fear of that happening to you?”

My heart squeezes in my chest. “Yeah,” I lie, and I don’t feel bad for doing so. I’m not going to confess my insecurities to someone who will be gone in a year. There is no point.

“It’s understandable,” she says softly, and I wait for her to guarantee she’d never do that to me. But why would she? This is a means to an end. She doesn’t care for me. Or want me for longer than she has to be with me. We can be attracted to each other—and I love kissing her—but I will walk away. She deserves more than what I can offer her.

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

“How about waffles?”

“Ew. I don’t like frozen waffles.”

“Noted. I’ll make you fresh ones,” I announce as I head to the pizza section. “Pizza for away game nights?”

“Sure.”

We go back and forth like this as I shop and she packs. It’s easy and, if I’m honest, fun. “Do you think your family will handle the news well?”

My wife scoffs. “Not at all. I expect pure mayhem. I got married before the two who are engaged, and they weren’t there. It won’t go over well. I don’t know if I want to lie and say we’ve been dating for a while or if I should just tell them the truth.”

That’s a good question. “I’ll go with whatever you want.”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t think you can lie,” I admit, my stomach coiling in on itself. “Especially to the people you love.”

“But telling the truth could bring negative feelings toward you.”

I smile. “You don’t have to worry about that. People don’t like me. I’m used to it.”

“I like you,” she says with no hesitation. My heart stills in my chest as my smile widens. “I don’t like the idea of my family not liking you. I don’t want you guys to start off on the wrong foot. So I don’t know, I may fib and say we’ve been hooking up for a while, and when you said you needed a wife, I confessed I’ve been in love with you, and you confessed the same. Boom, we’re married.”

I feel like I’ve been hit in the chest by a thousand pucks.

What would it be like to be loved by Eliza McDavid… I mean Katz?

My voice is gravelly as I ask, “Will they believe that?”

“Yeah. Everyone knows I want to be in love.”

But I can’t love her.

I close my eyes as I grip the cart for support.

“Are you good with that?” she asks, and I open my eyes, feeling like my reputation.

A flaming bag of shit.

She’s risking so much for me.

“Yeah, that’s good with me.”

“Okay, I feel better,” she admits.

I refrain from telling her I feel like hemorrhoid-riddled butthole.

“I’m glad,” I say, and I mean it. “Do you want soda for the house?”

“No. I’d rather have tea.”

“Done,” I say, heading that way. “Okay, I’m going to grab that and then head out. Call me if you want me to come over and help.”

“I won’t,” she tells me with a laugh. “I’m a big girl.”

“Eh, not really. You’re rather small and compact.”

“Don’t cause a domestic, Husband.”

My cock rages to life. “Oh, Wife, a domestic means your hands on me, and I’d enjoy that much more than you’ll ever know.”

She snickers. “Goodbye, Coleson.”

The line goes dead, and I stand there in disbelief. I can’t touch her. Or ravish her the way I so desperately want to. She wants love, she wants a real husband, and I’m not that. I can’t be that. I’d only hurt her. More so than I already will.

Once I check out and load the groceries into my car, a neon sign catches my eye.

Melvin’s Toys.

Hm. If I got her a toy, then I wouldn’t have to touch her to make her come. I know she probably has one, but I want her to use one I chose for her pleasure.

A grin pulls at my lips.

That’s the key to making this easy.